


The Care And Keeping Of Grieving Little Brothers (Or How To Make Sam Smile)

by authoressnebula (authoressjean)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e17 Heart, F/M, Gen, Good Big Brother Dean, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22897759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressnebula
Summary: Dean really wishes he had a handbook to help him help Sam. But if he can't find one, he'll just have to make it himself.Reposted from LiveJournal.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Madison (Supernatural: Heart)/Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 103





	The Care And Keeping Of Grieving Little Brothers (Or How To Make Sam Smile)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lissaann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lissaann/gifts).



> Originally written and gifted to the lovely Lissa! I posted to LiveJournal many moons ago.

The gunshot going off had been quick, briefly painful, but then mercifully over. Madison had passed on, no longer needing to worry about life, from what shoes to wear to what she'd do if she got out of a cage. It was over.  
  
The aftermath for the Winchesters, however, was of course never that simple.  
  
Dean swung his gaze over to his brother for the twenty-second time that morning. Sam had insisted that they drive, then had asked to stay in the hotel room. As soon as they'd gotten back, though, Sam had started packing. Kid was in a tail-spin, Dean knew that much.  
  
The sound of a growling stomach from one of them was faint, but it still made Sam flinch, and if that didn't kill a hungry mood, Dean didn't know what did. Still, he had to try, because at that point, Dean was tail-spinning as much as Sam was. He didn't have the foggiest notion of how to help his brother. Say what, “I'm sorry you had to kill the first woman you've considered being serious with since Sarah and Jess?”  
  
It wasn't like there was some sort of manual about “How To Help Your Brother After Killing His Would-Be-Girlfriend-Who-Was-A-Werewolf”, or god, even the more generalized, “Ten Easy Steps To Help With Losing Women To Supernatural Circumstances.” Dean could've really used that a year or so ago, and he definitely could use it now.  
  
If he didn't have any sort of manual, though, he'd just have to improvise.  
  
Food. Neither of them had eaten breakfast, and someone's stomach kindly reminded them again that it was nearly lunch. Dean was pretty certain this time the growl had been his stomach, and the sound made Sam curl up even more into the door. Dean bit his lip before clearing his throat. “Hey, uh, you want breakfast?” Or lunch, considering the time.  
  
“No,” Sam said without hesitation, and his throat sounded ripped up. His face was still red, his eyes puffy and near swollen, hair falling everywhere. Dean wasn't even sure if Sam had eaten dinner the night before and he wasn't about to let the kid starve now.  
  
“You sure? Could go anywhere; highway's big enough that we'll hit everything within the next couple of exits,” and normally, there were things Dean didn't eat. Would not touch, thanks very kindly.  
  
At that point, though, Dean would've eaten anything if it meant the world would leave his little brother alone for all of a minute. Or god, let Sam smile again. He was pretty certain he'd give his right arm for that.  
  
Sam mutely shook his head, but the next rumbling of a stomach didn't come from Dean, and Sam bit his lip. Didn't say anything, though, but Dean knew he wouldn't. If Dean didn't do something, Sam would just fall back into the hole he was creating for himself, and this time, it was going to be ten times deeper than it had been with Jess. Nothing like your own hand on the gun and her in your arms to drive home the preconceived notion that it was your fault.  
  
Fine. If Sam wasn't going to choose, then Dean would, and if there wasn't a manual on how to help little brothers grieve over lost women then Dean would write the damn thing himself. _Step One: attempt food._ Comfort food, and he started scanning the signs on the side of the road.  
  
It took him another twenty minutes to find what he was looking for, but he figured it'd be well worth the wait. The lunch rush hour would be over, leaving them without a multitude of people to deal with. It wasn't generally his type of place; he was more a steakhouse man himself. Steak with mashed potatoes and a beer with baskets flowing with bread and butter every couple minutes...  
  
Except this wasn't about him. This was Sam, and Dean intended to do it right. He could get steak anytime, but he couldn't get another little brother.  
  
Sam made no nod to the fact that they'd moved off the highway into the town, nor did he question when they pulled into the parking lot. It was only when Dean turned the car off that Sam blinked and started looking around. It was a slow move at first, a frown that deepened in confusion, and Dean waited until his brother turned back around to him. “Where are we?” Sam asked, and perplexed was a better look than numb.  
  
“Lunch,” Dean replied and moved out of the car. Sam was slow to follow, but at least he followed. Dean was taking all the tiny steps he could. “C'mon, I'm starving.”  
  
And just like Dean knew that by making it about him and not Sam his brother would move, Sam stepped forward after Dean. Gentle music played through the speakers near the door, some sort of jazzy piece, but Dean blocked it out as best he could and moved through both sets of double doors. The feel and scent of warmth (and he had no idea how warmth could be smelled but it could) hit him right before the smell from the lobster tank to his left did. Surf and turf had never been his thing: he was only a turf man.  
  
He still walked up to the hostess, however, and gave her a bright smile. When she returned it, his smile turned genuine. “Welcome to Red Lobster,” she said cheerfully. “Two?”  
  
“Two please, yeah,” Dean said. A glance out of the corner of his eye found Sam looking around like he'd never been in one before. “And it's a business lunch, so if we could have a booth away from everyone else...?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Perky Hostess said, two menus already in her hands.  
  
Dean was already right behind her and following when Sam came right up and whispered in his ear, “What are we doing? You don't like fish, Dean.”  
  
 _Yeah, but you do,_ Dean thought. Last thing he was going to do was express that out loud, though. Instead he merely shrugged and stopped at the booth Perky Hostess was gesturing towards. “Yeah, but I had a craving, dude.” He pretended to pause and think about it. “Why? I thought you kinda liked fish. We can go somewhere else...”  
  
Sam bit his lip. “No, no, this is...this is fine.” Dean sat down with a nod to Perky Hostess, who was already leaving. Sam slid into the booth, an automatic reflex to Dean's movement. “I actually like fish a lot,” Sam admitted.  
  
Like Dean hadn't known. They'd been with Pastor Jim once, Dean eleven and Sam seven, and they'd been taken out to a Red Lobster while their dad had researched a hunt. Sam had discovered his love for fish the same day Dean had discovered his dislike for it. They hadn't gone a lot of places that served fish after that, but after Jess had died, Dean had stopped at a few places up the Eastern coast for Sam. It hadn't led to an immediate healing of Sam's hurt and pain, but it had helped.  
  
He was really hoping that the same thing would help them now, if just for a little bit. Just one minute: all Dean wanted was a minute of peace. He grabbed one of the menus and started glancing through. Hey, there was steak on here, after all. Excellent, and Richard Morrison would be grabbing the tab.  
  
He glanced over the menu and found Sam staring at the cover, mind somewhere else. Dean pursed his lips but reached under his own menu to carefully open Sam’s. “Works better that way,” he said, because seriously, if he was too nice to the kid, Sam was bound to get suspicious.  
  
Sam didn’t even acknowledge Dean’s sarcasm, looking instead at the items inside the menu. Right: Dean would have to try another way to get into Sam’s head. “So, uh, what looks good?” he asked cheerfully.  
  
Sam shrugged. Dean found his lips sliding together in a thin line of frustration fueled by worry, and forced himself to turn them into a smile. “Shrimp, fish, lobster…”  
  
The menu was closed two seconds later, and Sam wrapped his arms tight around himself. “Not hungry,” he mumbled, and just like that, Dean’s small annoyance faded into nothing. The kid was seriously hurting, and food wasn’t going to cut it. This was going to be so much worse than Jess.  
  
“You gotta eat something, kiddo,” Dean said softly. Sam bit his lip but kept his eyes glued to the tabletop. “If you don’t pick something, I will.”  
  
Sam at least bristled at that. “I’m not a child, Dean-“  
  
“I’m not gonna let you starve,” Dean cut in, and he wasn’t above pleading with his brother if it got him to eat. “Just…please pick something.”  
  
With a small sigh Sam flipped the menu back open. “Anything you want: credit card’s new,” Dean added. A glance up told him that the waitress was on her way over.  
  
She was every bit as perky as the hostess had been, and Dean ordered them both water and coffee. “Any appetizers today?” she asked, dutifully recording the drinks. “Or were you both ready to order lunch?”  
  
“The steak with the shrimp,” Dean told her, before he hazarded a glance at his brother. Sam had already closed his menu again and was staring at it in much the same way as he had before. Before he could say anything, however, Sam was turning to the waitress with as much of a smile as he could muster. “Could I have the salmon, please?”  
  
“Absolutely,” she said cheerfully. “What sides?”  
  
Sam paused before relaying his choices, never noticing when Dean carefully collected both menus, a small smile on his face. So it wasn’t the most auspicious start, but the kid was planning on eating. He’d take it a step at a time.  
  
  
 _Step Two: When comfort food fails, try for entertainment._  
  
This one was a little harder to do, especially without raising Sam’s “my-big-brother’s-attempting-to-make-me-feel-better” hackles. As soon as those were alerted then Sam would tell him no and give him a bitch-face, or worse, would simply shut down and refuse to let Dean do anything for him because Sam was unworthy or some such bullshit.  
  
So Dean had to make it about himself. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite sure he could pull that off with the film they were going to see. He was hoping for some sort of reaction, though: lunch the day before had helped some, but not enough for Sam to straighten in his seat. Or stop staring morosely out the window. Or for him to have actually gotten any sleep, of course. And that meant that Dean hadn’t gotten any sleep either, because any thoughts of drifting off had been sent packing as soon as he’d heard muffled whimpers and sniffles.  
  
It’d been a bad, long night. Dean wasn’t one hundred percent sure they wouldn’t fall asleep as soon as they sat down, but it was the next thing he could think of besides comfort food. They hadn’t done this a lot as kids, but he was banking on pulling some good memories up into that big head of Sam’s.  
  
And anything was better than the look on Sam’s face. Anything. Seeing his brother in so much pain and hurt that he didn’t deserve was enough to make Dean’s chest twist until it hurt to breathe, and god knew how Sam had to feel. So yeah, anything besides the despairing, painful look on Sam’s face would be nice. Even a frown would work. Dean was definitely expecting a frown from this one.  
  
Sure enough, as soon as they got to the theatre, Sam’s frown was in place. “Uh, Dean?”  
  
Casual or defensive? Casual first. “Yeah?”  
  
“What are we doing at a movie theatre?”  
  
Denial or defensive? “Movie theatre?” Okay, that had come out more dumb than denied.  
  
“Yeah, movie theatre.”  
  
Dean had nothing left except for defensive. “Look, it’s a film I’ve wanted to see for awhile, okay?” They’d seen the commercials on TV enough, and they’d always caught Sam’s attention. One of those indie films that would no doubt have some sort of heart-warming ending with a coffee shop, and yeah, Dean didn’t do those types of films. Even as they walked up and inside Dean found his attention sliding to the poster where guns and fast cars were featured.  
  
They had enough of those on the job, though. And right now, getting Sam’s mind off the job and off of Madison were Dean’s top priorities.  
  
He bought the tickets, distinctly aware of Sam watching his every move. When he did turn around towards Sam to give him one of the tickets he found his little brother’s eyes wide. “You can’t be serious,” Sam said incredulously.  
  
“Fine, then I’ll find someone else to sit with,” Dean said, making to take the ticket from Sam’s hand. Sam’s fingers tightened as he gave a small tug, and Dean’s lips slid up into a grin. “Guess you don’t mind the choice, then?”  
  
“If you want to see it,” Sam said with a shrug, but there was a small amount of interest in his face. Good.  
  
They headed down the hallway towards their theatre, and the snack bar was right before theirs. The popcorn smelled divine, and okay, Dean still hadn’t let go of the whole comfort foods thing. Popcorn fixed _everything_.  
  
He felt Sam stop beside him and paused. “Sam?” A glance back found his brother standing in the middle of the hallway, face pale, eyes pained. Dean swung around to follow Sam’s gaze, though he was pretty sure of what he’d find.  
  
A couple up ahead was laughing and walking together, arms linked. The man was tall, but it was the girl on his arm that had caught Sam’s attention. Her long, dark hair had a slight wave to it, and when she leaned into her date, it swished gently from side to side.  
  
And, of course, because the universe couldn’t leave them alone, the couple stepped through a pair of doors with a sign for a werewolf film.  
  
Yeah, okay, so this wasn’t going as smoothly as Dean had wanted it to, either. Sam was still standing paralyzed a few feet behind him, looking too fragile and broken for Dean’s tastes, and the big brother in him wanted to start kicking and hitting the things that were hurting his little brother. Except he couldn’t, which was why he was standing there with a ticket to an indie film in his hand, his other hand already catching Sam’s elbow and pulling him along.  
  
This was going to need more than popcorn: this was going to need those chocolate mints, too. And the chocolate raisins, maybe some M&Ms. Yeah, definitely M&Ms.  
  
Sam still hadn’t spoken by the time Dean had bought nearly every type of item available from the snack bar, but when Dean put the popcorn bucket in front of him, he hesitantly pulled a few out and put them in his mouth. He chewed like they were two years old and beyond stale, but the next few he took seemed to have a little more invigoration behind the eating.  
  
Little steps: it’d taken months for Sam to recover after Jess, and Dean didn’t plan to be anywhere else except by Sam’s side for however long it took for Sam to come back after this. Even after Sam recovered from the latest heartbreak (and it was a definite thing, not an if, when Sam recovered) Dean would still keep being there.  
  
The film wasn’t as dry and tedious as Dean had feared it would be. It was actually fairly decent, from the parts that he saw. He spent most of it keeping an eye on Sam, gauging how his brother seemed to be. The popcorn bucket was now in Sam’s lap, as were the Junior Mints and Snowcaps. The Raisinets and M&Ms were with Dean, but every time Sam couldn’t seem to decide between the three in his lap Dean would take his hand and dump chocolate of some kind into it, and then Sam would settle back, eyes glued to the screen.  
  
Whoever said chocolate was a cure-all for only women was stupid. Chocolate was a manly remedy for pain, too.  
  
The film ended in a coffee shop, just like Dean had figured: worse, it ended with a sun parting the rain-filled clouds. This time it totally made sense as to why it had to, though, unlike the other indie films.   
  
…Not that Dean had ever seen any other indie films. It wasn’t his thing, obviously. And if he had, it was all for Sam. Really.  
  
Thankfully Sam rose, giving Dean a chance to collect his thoughts and the remnants from their feasting. “Not too bad,” Dean said, rolling his shoulders.  
  
“I liked it,” Sam agreed quietly. “They did a nice job.” He paused, fingers tightening around the empty boxes. “The coffee-shop girl kinda had Jess’s spirit in her.” His fingers twitched, but he managed to get out, “So did Madison.”  
  
And Dean had expected it, but it still hurt to hear it. Not only was there a misguided blame to connect the two women, but their personalities had to be close, too. _God, Sammy…_  
  
Sam turned suddenly and headed for the exit with the rest of the audience, and Dean quickly stepped to follow him. The fact that he'd said anything was good, but it was hard to hear, and probably harder to say. There was no one that Dean could hold accountable save for a demon they couldn't find, and it wouldn't give Sam anything back. They could only go forward.  
  
And Dean was getting as sentimental as the damn movie when his brother was trudging along up ahead by himself. Dean shoved his thoughts aside and hurried to catch up. Sam didn't stop moving until they were out at the Impala, and only then because Dean wouldn't unlock his door. “Dean-”  
  
“Sammy,” Dean said softly. It was enough to catch Sam's attention, even if all he did was pause and tilt his head, his eyes on the ground. Dean rested his hand against Sam's shoulder, wishing he could share his firm belief in Sam as easily as he could a touch. Words would have to try and do it for him. “She was glad, you know. Madison. That she'd met you.”  
  
Despair-filled eyes raised to meet Dean's. Dean steadily held the gaze. “I know Jess was, too,” he added after a moment.  
  
Sam looked unsteady, eyes wide and looking ready to shimmer. Dean finally unlocked his door, having said his peace. Plan two hadn't gone really any better than the first one: it was time for more drastic measures, but god help him, he _would_ pull a smile out of Sam.  
  
Still, when he tossed the almost-empty boxes of candy at Sam, Sam started shaking the contents out to munch on, and that was a step above where they'd been the day before. There was hope yet.

_Step Three: When entertainment fails, try amusement._  
  
“This is a hunt, right? The place is haunted?”  
  
“Haunted with lame-ass music and brightly colored balls, but otherwise, no.”  
  
“You can't be serious, Dean.”  
  
He was losing Sam and fast. “Aw c'mon Sammy; it's got a fountain and everything.”  
  
Slowly Sam swung his incredulous gaze over to Dean. “ _Putt-putt golf,_ Dean? Really?”  
  
“Really,” Dean replied with as much vigor as he could muster up. “Totally want to do this.”  
  
Sam swung his eyes back to the place before them, then back to Dean. Generally, this was where Sam would narrow his gaze and ask what was really going on, but at the moment, Sam's response was a bewilderment that almost hurt to see. God but the kid was lost. Maybe he should've done this right away.  
  
No, Dean had been right to take a few days off after the film. Just a couple of days as they wandered aimlessly around the country and as far from where they'd left Madison as possible. Nothing but diners, music, and hotel rooms with comfy beds, and they'd even managed almost two full nights of sleep somewhere in the four or five days they'd had. Enough to give Sam some time back in the regular groove of things, but not long enough to look for a hunt.  
  
They didn't need a hunt right now. Knowing their luck, they'd stumble across another werewolf incident.  
  
Dean pushed himself out of the car, slamming his door with a finality that told Sam they were really doing this. Dean swore he could _hear_ Sam's sigh through the closed windows and doors before his brother emerged from the car. He didn't look any more enthused as Dean really felt, but he wasn't energetic for different reasons. He had self-loathing and guilt and blame draped all over him, which was the reason Dean was ignoring his own reasons for hating putt-putt golf and dragging them here.  
  
Because Dean sucked at putt-putt golf. All his years of target practice, weapons training, it all disappeared as soon as he got on the little green ground with the stupid pebbles and the dingy holes that he could never get his ball towards.  
  
But this wasn't about him. This was about Sam, and Dean was banking on his lack of ability to wring a smile out of his brother.  
  
The girl at the register looked about as happy as they were, but she still managed to try and smile when they approached. “Welcome to Shipwreck Cove. Just two?”  
  
“Just two, and we want the longer course, thirty-six holes,” Dean said with a grin. The girl gave a tentatively real smile in return and rang them up. They found their golf clubs and picked up a fluorescent ball each, good manly colors like green and blue, then headed out onto the green. A few other people milled around, but no obvious couples, thank god. Mainly teenagers, and two families with young ones.  
  
“You first,” Dean declared. Sam's sigh this time was audible and close, but he lined his ball, aimed, and carefully knocked it down the green. It hit the edge and bounced back, stopping a small putt away from the hole.  
  
Crap. He'd forgotten that there was math involved in this, too, and prior planning for angles.  
  
“You going?” Sam asked quietly. Still way too quiet and no brotherly sarcasm, and not keeping Sam busy would then leave him thinking, and Dean wasn't planning on that. He already had a far away look, and any minute, the self-loathing would come back, and just _no_. He refused to let Sam keep any thoughts today. That meant he had to man up and take his shot.  
  
He dropped the ball, widened his stance, then tapped the ball. It bounced down the green, hitting the sides, then winding up against the border where it'd be impossible to hit from. Dean pursed his lips and resisted hanging his head.  
  
“You, um, wanna retry?” And there was Sam, completely willing to let him try again. Dean raised an eyebrow at him and aimed for affronted.  
  
“No! That was a good shot! M'not gonna retry and maybe screw that up,” and he stalked off towards where his ball was. “You gonna take your shot or what?”  
  
Sam got it in two, Dean in five. The next hole yielded the same results, with Sam shaking his head at Dean's insistence.  
  
By the time they hit hole ten Dean's score was monstrous. “You sure you really want to keep playing?” Sam asked tentatively, and when Dean told him that yes, he wasn't going to surrender when he still had a chance at winning, he was rewarded with a slight twitch of Sam's lips. _'Atta boy,_ Dean thought to himself, even as he botched the tenth hole.  
  
The sixteenth hole presented the worst challenge: water. The first stroke sent him straight into the water, even though Dean was pretty certain he'd aimed the opposite way. He raced down the river to keep it from joining the big pond, and by the time he returned, pants soaked up to his knees, ball grimy and wet in his hands, Sam was coughing and scratching the back of his neck, sure indicators of trying not to laugh. “Why did you want to play again?” Sam asked.  
  
“Shut up,” was Dean's succinct reply. It did what he wanted it to, though, and he thought he caught a glimpse of a smile before Sam cleared his throat and they were off to the seventeenth hole.  
  
At the twenty-sixth hole, Dean finally got what he was waiting for. The green was bad, hills and rocks and even a little sandtrap because the people who owned this place thought they were cute. The good and bad thing was that Dean really wasn't trying to suck: he just naturally did. Which meant when he tried to knock the ball up the hill and wound up with it jumping, _jumping_ over the edge and into the same river he'd raced to get it out of before, Sam totally believed he hadn't done it on purpose.  
  
Which meant the snort of laughter was genuine. Dean turned to his brother and found Sam with a hand over his mouth to stifle his mirth. Dean's immediate response was to grin in relief, but instead he sent a glare in Sam's direction. “Not. A. Word,” he said, pointing his club at Sam. Sam nodded, hand still clasped over his mouth while Dean went off to find his ball.  
  
It wound up not being that easy. The gate at the end of the river, the one that was supposed to catch the balls, hadn't done its job. His ball was now in the pond where apparently, it wouldn't be lost forever, but he wouldn't be getting it back for awhile. After five minutes of digging for it, the employees finally informed him of this fact, and offered to get him another ball. Before they could, though, a young girl bounced over and offered him her own ball, leaving her family smiling and proud. And of course, the ball was bright, neon pink. And of course, Dean couldn't refuse.  
  
So when he came back up the hill nearly ten minutes later, sleeves and pants soaked, a pink ball in his hand, he wasn't at all surprised when Sam's eyes went wide.  
  
He was happily surprised, however, when Sam started laughing. It was soft at first, little quiet gasps, and then his brother was full out laughing, arm around his stomach, full belly-laughing. Laughing like he hadn't in years and god, why hadn't Dean thought about doing this earlier? He'd have done anything if it meant Sammy laughing like that.  
  
Dean's half-hearted, “Aw dude, c'mon,” only made Sam laugh harder. But he was laughing, and Dean couldn't stop his own smile. God but the kid was _laughing_. Dean felt himself take a deep breath and breathe easier than he had in days, weeks. Maybe even months.  
  
Sam's laughing finally started tapering off, and he glanced over at Dean, still chuckling. He paused, smile still on his face, and Dean realized he himself was still smiling wide like he wasn't supposed to if he was playing disgruntled older brother. He cleared his throat and set the pink ball down carefully on the green. “If you're done amusing yourself, we can get back to the game and I can continue to kick your ass.”  
  
“Continue?” Sam said after a moment. He still had a small smile, though, as he came up with his club. “I didn't know you'd started.”  
  
Dean narrowed his gaze before gently tapping his ball this time. The ball rolled up towards the top, then slid back down. Sam snorted and began to chuckle again. “Let me know when it's my turn,” Sam said, making to head back for the bench.  
  
Dean grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him up the stairs. “We're skipping this one,” he declared, and hid his grin when Sam gave a soft laugh.  
  
Thirty-six holes in all declared Sam the very obvious winner, with a score that Dean had to admit was pretty impressive. They dropped everything back off with the girl up front and then headed for the Impala, Dean thinking all the way. Okay, so Sam was smiling, but it was only a matter of time before the smiling would wear off. Comfort food again? It might work now.  
  
“So, where to now? Ice cream, I guess?”  
  
Dean glanced over at Sam to find his brother gazing with a knowing look. “We could, if you wanted to,” Dean said, stalling for a moment.  
  
Sam tucked his hands into his coat pockets. “You hate fish,” he said quietly, and his smile was fading. “You hate indie films, and you _despise_ putt-putt golf.”  
  
Crap. Dean shrugged and fiddled with the car keys. “Haven't done either in awhile, so I figured I'd give them another chance. And I don't hate putt-putt; why would you think that?”  
  
“Because you suck at it,” Sam said.  
  
Yeah, Dean really couldn't argue with that. “I'm not that bad,” he tried anyways. “Who else can make a ball jump like that?”  
  
Sam's smile returned briefly, right before it disappeared all together. “Dean...why did you do all this?”  
  
Dean stared at him. Okay, so maybe the kid didn't know what was going on. “Seriously? You don't know?”  
  
“I know you wanted to give me a break from hunting. And to enjoy the break,” Sam added, “which I have, and I'm grateful for-”  
  
“I wanted you to be _happy_ ,” Dean said, cutting Sam off. Sam stopped, mouth still dropped open to speak, and Dean kept right on going. “That's all I wanted. That's all I've ever wanted for you. And I know Madison was kinda one of those last straws,” and Sam tensed up, fists clenched, eyes already shimmering, “but you still deserve to be happy, Sammy. You still deserve to smile every now and then. God forbid maybe even have a little fun.” No, this conversation wasn't familiar at all. Really.  
  
Sam was still staring at him, inhaling shakily, and god but Dean almost really hated Madison right then. She'd asked Sam to do something that was beyond difficult for anybody, but especially for Sam. And Sam had done it anyways. Because she'd asked him to. And it wasn't fair to point fingers and blame a dead woman who'd been cursed with something she never should have been, but leaving Sam like this had his big brother hackles screaming _no_ all over.  
  
He moved forward then, pocketing the keys and catching both of Sam's shoulders to focus his brother. Sam bit his lip and tried to look away. “I killed her,” Sam whispered.  
  
“She asked you to,” Dean replied quietly. “Listen to me, Sammy. She was already infected before we got to her. If another hunter had taken the gig, she wouldn't have gone out that way at all. You did something no one else would've given her.” Even without Sam saying anything, even without Dean having seen it, he still knew his little brother would've held on until the last minute. Done everything he could've to keep Madison feeling loved up to the gunshot.  
  
Sam shut his eyes and hung his head. “I just...she was...that last moment, all I could think of was Jess,” he confessed, breath hitching. Dean's fingers tightened reflexively from the pain in his brother's voice. He'd guessed, but god, _Sammy_. “And I killed-”  
  
“Don't you _dare_ ,” Dean hissed, and that was enough to make Sam's head raise with a snap. “You did _not_ kill Jess. We've done this dance before, I'm not gonna let you move back into it again.”  
  
Sam seemed to deflate even more after that. Dean forced his fingers to release, but he couldn't stop his hand from cupping Sam's neck, thumb pressed lightly against his cheek. “You're allowed to grieve,” he said softly. “You're not allowed to take the blame on yourself. I won't let you, Sam.”  
  
He could see the cogs in his brother's mind turning a million miles an hour, trying to process what Dean was telling him. Dean waited him out, patient to the end.  
  
Finally Sam met his gaze, eyes still shimmering, but his breath out didn't tremble. “So...what's next on the list?” he asked.  
  
Dean grinned, relief making it wider and brighter than it normally was. “I don't know, but for some reason, I'm thinking ice cream,” he said, and Sam huffed a laugh. They headed to their respective sides of the car, Dean digging in his pocket again for the keys.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
He glanced up from his search and met Sam's eyes across the top of the Impala. “Thanks,” Sam said softly. “For not giving up.”  
  
Dean slowly began to smile. “Never gonna happen, Sammy,” he replied. His fingers closed around the keys and he slid in, reaching over to unlock Sam's door.  
  
When Sam stepped in and shut the door, Dean could see the smile on his little brother's face.  
  
 _Step Four: After amusement, send strength and love and support his way. Then return to step one and repeat as many times as necessary to keep him smiling._  
  
END


End file.
